


The Four Things Bakura Did To Prepare For Malik’s Birthday … And One He Forgot

by Sparklefists



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, so if you're not into that, stop reading at the mention of olive oil, things get NSFW at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklefists/pseuds/Sparklefists
Summary: Malik hates his birthday, but Bakura's got a plan...





	The Four Things Bakura Did To Prepare For Malik’s Birthday … And One He Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Sitabethel's Dirty Santa fanfic game for festive thiefshipping. The prompt was "The things Bakura does to prepare for Marik's birthday", so I decided to do a traditional Five Things fic, since it seemed to fit!
> 
> It is actually Malik's birthday today - the 23rd of December - so a perfect time to post it!
> 
> Oh, and I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

  
  


Malik hates his birthday.

 

Last year, the first year after the completion of the Ishtar’s family obligation and a few months after Bakura clawed his way through one of the holes Kaiba ripped in spacetime, Bakura and Malik had a violent row that their relationship almost didn’t survive. Bakura found out later, from Isis, that it had been Malik’s birthday.

 

This year, he’s determined to prepare for it.

 

Malik should enjoy his birthday. For one thing, it’s something he has that Bakura doesn’t. Bakura has no idea when his birthday originally was, if that even counts anymore, after a few millennia and some body-hopping. Ryou says he can’t use his. The Pharaoh uses the day he returned with Kaiba for a birthday party, _and_ makes offerings on the day he’s calculated should be equivalent to the day he was originally born, because _his_ birth was recorded in stone.

 

But anyway. Fuck that.

 

Malik does have a birthday, and just because it’s also the anniversary of the shattering of his childhood innocence under a red-hot knife doesn’t mean he should never enjoy it again. In fact, enjoying it would be a perfect fuck-you to the abusive piece of shit the Ishtar siblings still call “Father”, in Bakura’s opinion.

 

Bakura knows from Ryou what birthdays are supposed to look like, sort of, although Ryou’s were generally boring. Ryou would buy himself a new book and a supermarket birthday cake and stay home from school on his birthday to read one and eat the other, alone.

 

Yugi goes to the arcade with his friends and then they all go for burgers and Yugi gets a big milkshake. Anzu invites people over to her house and they eat fancy snacks and cake and dance to pop music. Honda organised paintball for his. Jounouchi never really did much for his birthday until the year Shizuka got her surgery; she threw him a surprise party at Yugi’s house after school on his birthday and he freaked out. Kaiba threw himself a Duel Monsters tournament for his birthday last year, and won, and awarded himself the grand prize of a trip to New York.

 

None of those things are exactly what Bakura sees Malik enjoying most. Well, maybe he’d like a trip to New York, but Bakura doesn’t have Kaiba money.

 

But he knows what a birthday celebration needs: cake, gifts, friends, a party.

  
  


**Cake.**

 

Bakura pounds on Ryou’s door. Despite the fact that it is well past noon, Ryou opens it bleary-eyed and in his pyjamas.

 

“What do _you_ want?”

 

Bakura strides into the house he used to live in, pushing past the body he used to live in.

 

“I’m throwing Malik a birthday party. It’s on the 23rd. You’re coming,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes straight for the kitchen.

 

“The 23rd? Of December?” Ryou closes the front door and follows, yawning.

 

“Yes?” Bakura glances over impatiently as he pulls down Ryou’s recipe books.

 

“That’s less than a week away. And the day before Christmas Eve!”

 

“Hardly anyone celebrates Christmas.”

 

“ _I_ do.”

 

Bakura waves a hand. “Then think of it as an opportunity to see your friends in the festive season, that’s the kind of crap Christmas is about, isn’t it?” He pulls down Cakes For All Occasions and starts rifling through it.

 

Ryou grabs it -- “Hey, I was--” and meets Bakura’s eyes ferociously. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on baking him a fucking cake.”

 

Bakura glares back, but his cheeks colour a little. “What if I was?”

 

“Kura, you’re a good cook but you do not have the temperament for baking, and I really thought that near miss with the jam tarts would have taught you that.”

 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

 

“The _fire brigade_ had to come!”

 

Bakura huffs and folds his arms, glaring.

 

“ _I_ will bake him a cake, okay?” Ryou continues. “It’ll be my gift to him, since I don’t have a present for his birthday and I don’t think I’ll have time to shop this week anyway. What kind of cake do you want?”

 

“Chocolate.” Bakura takes the book back and flicks through the pages, looking for something good.

 

“Isn’t that _your_ favourite cake?”

 

“I resent your implication.” He holds up a picture of an elaborate chocolate cake with thick icing and dainty sugar decorations. “Make this.”

 

“I’ll make something like that.” Ryou takes the book, and Bakura points at the surface of the cake.

 

“And write Happy Birthday Malik on it and, y’know, candles and shit.”

 

“I’m familiar with the conventions of a birthday cake, yes.” Ryou snaps the book closed, just missing Bakura’s finger. “I thought Malik didn’t celebrate his birthday.”

 

“He doesn’t, but he will.”

 

Ryou pulls a face that Bakura doesn’t appreciate. “Does he know?”

 

“No, he’s away with Rishid this week, they’ll be back on the 22nd. So I can plan it in peace.”

 

“Have you talked to Isis and Rishid?”

 

“Not yet.” Bakura pulls a face of his own. “I don’t care that they won’t approve. They don’t approve of me anyway. But I know I’m right on this one. Isis never tries to change anything, everything’s just _the way things are_. ‘That’s just the way things are, Bakura.’” He mimics her gently firm tone in a high pitched voice. “And Rishid will always obey Malik instead of actually helping him. He’ll never push against what Malik wants, even if it’s not what Malik needs.” He shrugs and heads for the door. “So I’m fucking throwing him a birthday party, even if he kills me. And he might.”

 

“Wait, are you leaving?”

 

Bakura waves over his shoulder. “No time for idle chat, my gracious host. I have to go shopping.”

  
  


**Gifts.**

 

The good news is, Malik is easy to buy for. He likes _things_ ; he likes owning things, admiring things, wearing things, showing things off. He likes shiny things and new things. He likes things he couldn’t get below ground as a child. Which is most things, really.

 

The bad news is, Bakura hates shopping. Everything’s overpriced, there’s people everywhere, the shops play irritating music. It’s not even fun to steal shit; pickpocketing and shoplifting are such petty, childish crimes compared with tomb raiding and breaking and entering palaces. And this is a terrible time of year to be shopping: Japan doesn’t go in too much for Christmas, but the global chains are trying to push the joy of the Season of Spending As Much Money As Possible On Tat, so there’s sales on and tinny Christmas music seeping from the ceiling.

 

He walks into a (overpriced, crowded, irritating) lingerie shop and almost turns on his heel and walks back out again because Mai Kujaku is browsing thongs right in front of him, but before he can, she looks directly at him. He’s still seriously considering deliberately snubbing her by obviously seeing her and walking away, but she’s already walking up to him.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she opens.

 

He shrugs, ungracious. “Well I’m here. If you’ll excuse me…”

 

But she won’t be put off that easily, obviously intrigued. “Buying for yourself or something else? First time?”

 

“You’re really fucking nosy, you know that?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do. And I have no shame about it.”

 

“Clearly,” he mutters. “I’m buying a gift, actually, thanks very much.”

 

He stalks off towards the shelves, but she actually fucking follows him. This is what he gets for being _nice_ , for agreeing to not murder anyone and for going shopping for gifts. She’s not afraid of him. How can you be afraid of someone shopping for panties?

 

“Christmas shopping?”

 

“No,” he snaps. He walks down a row of frilly shorts. How the fuck can they charge 4000¥ for what amounts to a few centimetres of fabric?

 

“I thought you celebrated Christmas,” she muses, still following him.

 

“You’re thinking of Ryou.”

 

He stops at a display of leather … things. Shorts and panties and corsets and all sorts of tiny leather barely-decent technically-clothes. He feels the beginnings of a headache stabbing behind his eyes.

 

“Ah. So a birthday gift then?”

 

“Yes, fine! I’m looking for a birthday gift for Malik, okay?” he hisses, “It’s his birthday, in a few days, and I’m buying him something slutty because we’re dating, but I have no fucking idea what to get him because I’ve literally never bought a birthday gift for anyone before in my long and storied life. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” He glares furiously and is mildly gratified to see she does have the decency to take a half step back.

 

He knows what Malik’s dark personality did to her, and that it took her a long time before she started hanging around with Yugi and them again. A shadow passes over her eyes and her jaw tightens, but he sees her push past it and give him a deliberate smile.

 

“But you think he’d like ... ‘something slutty’?”

 

Bakura shrugs helplessly. “He likes wearing sexy shit. He’s proud of his body.”

 

Mai nods. “And why wouldn’t he be?” She steps in and surveys the leather Things. “I’ll help. I excel at wearing sexy shit, and you seem to excel at wearing baggy pastels and whatever’s on top of your clean-ish laundry pile, so I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say you could use some advice.”

 

“I’m going to stab you in the dark,” Bakura mutters under his breath.

 

“What was that?”

 

He sighs, deeply, like he’s on the cusp of expiring from sheer ennui. “Fine!” He has to admit, if Malik was a woman he would probably dress like Mai. She’s literally wearing a purple crop top right now. She probably can pick something out for him faster than Bakura can.

 

Mai moves purposefully through the shop and Bakura follows like a grumpy shadow.

 

“Not that one.”

 

“That’s too expensive.”

 

“That’s not expensive enough, I’m not a fucking cheapskate.”

 

“No.”

 

“ _Fuck_ no.”

 

He thinks he’ll put her off and she’ll give up. In fact, he intends to. But she seems to take it as a challenge.

 

Forty five minutes later, with a dainty bag of overpriced scraps of fabric Bakura has to admit are both sexy and definitely in Malik’s taste, he finds himself not objecting to Mai accompanying him to a jewellery shop next door. Or at least, not objecting too strongly.

 

Malik finally got his bellybutton pierced this summer. He hasn’t been showing it off much, grumpily shivering through a Japanese autumn and winter, but Mai and Bakura pick out a gold captive bead ring and a gold barbell with a decorative star-shaped amethyst.

 

Bakura’s browsing scarves and gloves -- Malik really has been complaining a lot about the cold -- when Mai comes up and shows him a pair of gold earrings, sturdy gold chain links dangling.

 

“Yeah, he’d wear those. How much?”

 

Mai grins and tucks them back into their box. “Not telling. I already bought them.”

 

Bakura rolls his eyes. “I thought you were helping me find gifts for Malik, not buying shit for yourself.”

 

“They are for Malik. They’re _my_ birthday gift for him. I’ll have them gift-wrapped here and sign the tag, and you can take them to him.” She looks thoughtful. “It took me a while to even forgive my friends for what happened in Battle City. I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive Malik, even though Atem explained everything to me afterwards, about Malik’s other personality. But if I had to live with that bastard actually in my head for years…” She trails off, the shadow back in her face.

 

Bakura stares at the earring box in her hand. He had no idea what to say to someone who was mentally traumatised by his boyfriend’s alter ego in a card game tournament turned battle to the death on the top of a blimp.

 

Mai’s deliberate smile is back on her face. “Hell, maybe Malik had it worst of all. I’ll give him a chance. Anyway … his sister is really hot.”

 

Bakura certainly doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

He turns back to the scarves, looking unseeingly at the row of patterned wool.

 

Malik is pretty likely to kill him either way, for forcing birthday cheer upon him. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

 

“... Come to the party.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“If you want to give him a chance, get to know him. Give him your gift. Ah… meet Isis in a casual setting to, I don’t fucking know, rekindle a connection. You should just come to the party. I’m inviting Yugi and his shower of … ahem, friends.”

  
  


**Friends.**

 

Bakura thanks the gods that Malik doesn’t actually have that many friends as he glares at the scribbled list in his hand. Mai had been added to the bottom, but it still only ran to less than a dozen people.

 

Ryou was easy.

 

Mai was apparently also coming.

 

Yugi would probably bring Anzu, Jounouchi, and Honda with him to his own colonoscopy, so Bakura was reasonably sure he could invite the whole package by just finding one of them.

 

His stupid fucking boyfriend had actually made friends with the stupid fucking Pharaoh, since the latter’s return. It would look deliberate and petty if Bakura specifically excluded him. It would _be_ deliberate and petty. He sighs. He’ll invite him, graciously, and Atem will have to thank him and bring a gift to his home, and then Bakura can just ignore him. It’ll be fine.

 

And that left family. Isis and Rishid.

 

This was going to go brilliantly, he thinks, knocking on the door of Isis’s Domino flat. If he can convince her, Rishid will follow. Anyway, it’s not like he could call Rishid to talk to him while Rishid is with Malik, Malik would guess something’s up.

 

“Bakura,” Isis greets him coolly. She does everything coolly, but Bakura feels an extra touch of iciness is added just for him.

 

“Isis.” He stares her down. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

 

“Do come in.” Her voice is flat, but there’s a hint of worry in her expression. “I can’t imagine something has happened to Malik?”

 

He shakes his head as he comes inside and follows her to her austere, Japanese-style living room. “No, he texted me earlier. The worst that’s happened to him is he overate at lunch and feels sleepy. Nice art,” he says, vaguely gesturing at the Egyptian wall hangings.

 

“You didn’t come because Malik is in trouble and you certainly didn’t come to admire my decor. So why are you here, Bakura?”

 

They don’t sit.

 

“It’s Malik’s birthday in a few days.”

 

She inclines her head. “Are you worried you’ll have another fight? He has become much calmer in the last year. I am sure if you are thoughtful and exercise some additional patience with his moods, you two won’t have a repeat of last year. It happened because you didn’t know, but now you are forewarned. Just don’t lose your temper with him if he’s out of sorts, and above all, don’t call attention to the fact that it is his birthday.”

 

Bakura gives her a thin smile. “I’m throwing him a birthday party and I’m here to invite you.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

It’s been quite a while since Bakura has seen Isis rattled. He likes it. She’s always so sure and smug, like the Pharaoh. It suits them both to have the wind knocked out of them. Bakura has often reflected that the Pharaoh is at his absolute best in the moment after being smacked across the face, and Isis is making that face now: lips parted, eyes wide, a shocked flush across the cheeks.

 

“It’s on the 23rd itself,” Bakura continues, enjoying himself. “At our place. Don’t worry about bringing anything except a gift for Malik. And your brick shithouse of a brother.”

 

“You … This will be a disaster.”

 

Bakura shrugs, grinning. “Quite possibly. But what’s the alternative? Tip-toeing around it forever? Kick down the door, I say.”

 

Isis passes a hand over her face. “He’s going to be upset. You _know_ why he hates his birthday, this isn’t some affectation or joke, Bakura. He’s hurt, deeply hurt, and his birthday causes him real pain. I thought you had more respect for him than this.”

 

Bakura’s grin vanishes. “How dare you! I might have thought _you_ would have more respect for him than to indulge his destructive, counter-productive avoidance year on year, except I actually didn’t ever think that. Because you and your whole family just bury pain and build on top of it. It’s not healthy and it’s not what Malik needs.”

 

“Malik _needs_ to have his wishes respected!”

 

“Malik NEEDS to be able to live his life and enjoy himself, and not let the worst parts of his past swallow him up for years and years because let me tell you from a few thousand years of dark and bitter experience, it doesn’t lead anywhere good!”

 

He’s practically shouting, and Isis turns away. The silence rings in the room.

 

“... Maybe you’re right.”

 

Bakura’s anger falters without something to push against. “... I hope I am.” He blows his fringe out of his eyes in a frustrated puff. “Malik should love his birthday. I bet he did when he was a kid. He loves being the centre of attention, being made a fuss of. He loves good food and dancing and, for some unholy reason, big groups of people. He really fucking loves getting presents.”

 

Isis lets out a small, unexpected laugh. “You’re right. He adored his birthday as a child. Rishid and I would give him handmade gifts, and I would cook kushari. We would light as many candles as we could and play games till late. Our father…” her mouth twists slightly, “would measure Malik’s height and tell him he was another year closer to being a proud and noble leader of our clan. Malik loved that, when he didn’t yet know what it meant. And he did love being made a fuss of, and getting his gifts.”

 

She turns back to face Bakura and he realises the reason she turned away was to hide the tears in her eyes.

 

“Let’s try it your way. Avoiding it hasn’t helped him.”

 

Bakura nods, firm. “He needs new birthday traditions.”

 

“He may need some of the old ones too. Let me cook kushari and bring it, please. It’s still his favourite dish.”

 

He hesitates … but nods again. “Fine.”

 

On his way back through town, he catches sight of an unmistakable hairdo and veers towards Yugi Mutou. This way he won’t have to call him, and Yugi can just pass along the invitation to his groupies and the Pharaoh, so Bakura won’t have to talk to any of them.

 

“Yugi!”

 

Yugi turns around from looking in a shop window. It’s a shop that sells weird gothy leather clothes, so that answers the question of where he gets those. He’s wearing black studded leather trousers paired with a softly formal pale blue shirt today, in his usual half-goth half-boy-next-door tradition.

 

“Oh, um, hi, Bakura.”

 

Bakura can’t tell if Yugi’s eyes are wide with nervous surprise, or if he’s just forgotten how big Yugi’s eyes usually are.

 

“Listen, I want to invite--”

 

“Bakura!” snaps a powerful, imperious, infuriating voice. The Pharaoh steps out of the shop, glaring at Bakura, and immediately angles himself slightly in front of Yugi as though to protect him. Bakura rolls his eyes.

 

“Pharaoh.”

 

Atem is wearing mostly black leather that looks like it could have come from the shop he just exited, along with a wide, gold-edged purple scarf or wrap or something, that he’s wearing as a fucking cloak. He came back from Kaiba’s jaunt through the veil of death itself in his original body; dark skin and wiry muscles. Bakura came back in a bone-white approximation of his form when he was possessing Ryou. He suspected it was because his identity and self-image fragmented and reformed too completely, while the Pharaoh, who died “properly”, the second time around, had a coherent self-image once he had his memories back.

 

“What do you want, Bakura?” From the tone of his voice, Atem is apparently expecting the answer to in some way include some kind of duel to the death.

 

“I’m throwing a birthday party for Malik and you’re both invited.” Bakura’s smile shows a few too many teeth, but he keeps his tone very friendly and polite. Or at least, not openly antagonistic.

 

“You’re what?” asks Atem, thrown off.

 

“Really?” Yugi looks much more delighted than Atem. “That’s a great idea! His birthday’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

 

“Ah ... yes.” Bakura didn’t really expect Yugi to know that. “The 23rd. The party’s at our place. Bring a gift for Malik. And bring, you know, Anzu, etc.” He waves his hand vaguely.

 

“Sure, I’ll say it to Anzu, and Jou and Honda, and Otogi! Oh, and will I invite Shizuka?”

 

“Who the hell is Shizuka? Oh, Jounouchi’s sister? Sure, whatever.”

 

“What about Mai? She’s back in town again.”

 

“I, uh, actually already invited her.”

 

Atem looks even more surprised at that, but Yugi just claps his hands.

 

“Great! It’s going to be loads of fun! We better go buy him some presents, right, Atem?”

 

Bakura smirks as Atem nods.

 

“Right. Ah … thank you for inviting us, Bakura.” The Pharaoh does a decent pass at sounding gracious. Bakura’s smirk widens.

 

“You’re very welcome, your majesty.”

 

Then he walks away quickly before Atem can respond to that.

  
  


**A party.**

 

Bakura had never thrown a party before.

 

He hides Malik’s gifts at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Malik literally never did laundry unprompted, so he’s reasonably confident Malik won’t find them. He’d bought bulging grocery bags full of whatever random party snacks looked good or were on sale, and big bottles of soda. Plus a few cases of beer from a dodgy guy who ran a stall in the market near Ryou’s, who not only didn’t object to selling beer to teenagers, he actually seemed to prefer it. Ryou thought that was skeevy, but Bakura thought it was convenient. He’d left the snacks and beer at Ryou’s house along with cash for Ryou to get a taxi over to Bakura and Malik’s apartment with the bags, and the beer. And the cake. And Isis’s dinner, which she was supposed to drop off with Ryou the morning of.

 

Keeping secrets from Malik was tricky, but he has a plan. He’s relying on Malik arriving home too tired for asking any potentially awkward questions on the 22nd. Then he just needs to send Malik out for an errand, any errand, to give Ryou and the others time to arrive and set up.

 

He’d forgotten to account for Malik’s foul mood.

 

It does make the first part of the plan go very smoothly. Malik stalks into the apartment and straight into the bedroom. By the time Bakura stands up from the couch, crosses the apartment, and cracks the door of the bedroom, Malik has stripped naked and buried himself under the covers. Bakura shrugs and goes back to the TV.

 

However, it makes the second part of the plan much more difficult to pull off. Usually Malik is happy to get out to the shops, or even for a walk. But in this dire mood?

 

“We don’t have anything in for dinner,” Bakura floats.

 

“Why the hell didn’t you go shopping when I was away? Whatever. We’ll order in.”

 

…

 

“There’s sales on at the moment. Weren’t you saying you were going to wait for a sale to get a new pair of boots?” Bakura suggests.

 

“Trying on shoes is hell. I’ll order a pair online in January.”

 

…

  


“We’ve run out of shampoo,” calls Bakura from the bathroom, holding the open bottle of Malik’s favourite brand of shampoo upside-down over the drain and watching it flow away.

 

“So go buy some.”

 

“I don’t know what brands you like. You’re the one who cares, I’ll just get the wrong one.”

 

“How fucking oblivious are you? It’s been the same fucking brand the entire time I’ve lived here! Fuck’s sake!” A door slams.

 

Bakura tosses the empty shampoo bottle in the rubbish and texts Isis.

 

Ten minutes later, Malik is yanking on his aging boots and dragging on his coat, glowering.

 

“Are you going out?”

 

“My fucking sister needs help with something. Typical.”

 

Bakura waves him off, silently thanking Isis and the powers of an elder sibling. “Don’t forget to pick up shampoo!”

 

Malik sticks up his middle finger in reply.

 

As soon as he’s gone, Bakura texts Ryou and sets about “tidying” the apartment for the party. Since he doesn’t have the time or inclination to actually tidy, this involves sacrificing the bedroom to the clutter and dumping everything that isn’t actually furniture from the living room and kitchen into piles on and around the bed. Then giving the weirdly bare surfaces a cursory wipe, dust, or sweep.

 

Ryou arrives and calls Bakura to come help him drag the snacks and drinks and the big covered dish up the stairs, while fussily carrying a large covered plate like it’s his firstborn infant.

 

Bakura leaves Ryou setting out the food and drink while he scales the piles of books and games and junk in the bedroom to reach the laundry hamper. The gifts are all wrapped in mismatching paper because he just got the shops to wrap them, but he doesn’t think Malik is going to mind. If he doesn’t kill him for throwing the party, he thinks he can get away with mismatched gift wrap.

 

By the time he clambers back out of the bedroom and firmly shuts the door, the guests have arrived and Ryou is letting them in.

 

Bakura is pleased to note that everyone is arriving with wrapped packages or fancy bags. He corralls the gifts on the desk, with his own ostentatious pile in the centre, in pride of place, and Atem’s neatly-wrapped obviously-a-book boring gift shoved in the back corner.

 

Mai comes and says hello, and so does Yugi and, to his surprise, Atem. The others are chatting and helping Ryou set out the food and drinks on the table. With so many people helping, it’s done very quickly, under Ryou’s direction.

 

Everyone’s just standing around now. No one wants to start eating or drinking, because that will mess up Ryou’s presentation, which Bakura has to admit is pretty nice-looking, with the snacks in actual bowls and on plates, the glasses neatly lined up, the beer in a bucket of ice. The birthday cake is waiting in the kitchen, candles in place but not lit. Bakura wonders if Ryou’s ever thrown a birthday party before. He’d never asked.

 

Bakura’s phone buzzes. Isis. They’re on their way back, the three Ishtars.

 

“Everyone be quiet. And when he opens the door, say Happy Birthday Malik. Got it?” He glares around the room. Yugi nods enthusiastically and Mai gives him a thumbs up. Atem’s arms are folded and Ryou’s fussing anxiously with a row of glasses, but Bakura can live with that.

 

The waiting is weird, and awful. Bakura hates waiting at the best of times. This is probably the tensest surprise-birthday-party waiting period any of them have ever experienced. Even those guests who don’t know how Malik generally feels about his birthday can pick up on the vibe in the room…

 

Someone, Bakura isn’t sure who, hears the downstairs door and goes “sssh!”

 

The assembled group hush, elbowing one another.

 

Malik’s voice on the stairs, footsteps, Isis’s quiet reply. It’s not possible to distinguish what they’re saying. Bakura imagines Isis smoothly lying; asking if Bakura is home. Malik probably complaining about the shampoo.

 

The scrape of the key in the lock.

 

The assembled group hold their collective breath.

 

Malik opens the door, speaking over his shoulder. “And we had loads when I left, which was only four days ago, so I have no idea how--”

 

He cuts off, suddenly confronted with more or less everyone he’s ever met.

 

“Happy Birthday! … Malik!” It’s a very unsynchronised chorus, trailing off abruptly as more than half the participants forget to add the “Malik!”

 

Everyone looks expectantly at Malik. Ryou glances to Bakura. Isis’s eyes are literally closed. Rishid looks so surprised Bakura wonders if Isis didn’t tell him either. Probably a good idea actually, he reflects in the lively silence. Rishid would probably have told Malik.

 

Malik’s eyes come to rest on Bakura.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“Happy Birthday,” repeats Bakura firmly.

 

“No, what the actual fuck?”

 

Malik is too surprised to be angry, and Bakura takes advantage, throwing an arm around his shoulders and gesturing sweepingly towards the pile of gifts.

 

“It’s your birthday today,” he asserts confidently, “and we wanted to celebrate you. We all did. Gifts, and snacks, there’s beer,” he points towards the ice bucket, “and… friends.” He gestures around the room, at the nervous-looking party-goers.

 

Malik turns to Isis.

 

“You _knew_ about this?”

 

Isis, to Bakura’s surprise and grudging delight, throws her arms around Malik and hugs him tightly. “Happy birthday, Malik!”

 

Malik turns back to Bakura, completely discombobulated, and Bakura just grabs him and kisses him soundly. Mai whoops loudly and that breaks the tension, as soon as Bakura lets Malik go, they’re surrounded by the party guests, everyone crowding to give their well-wishes. Bakura would hate it, but he draws back and watches as Malik starts to glow under all the attention. Jounouchi shakes his hand, Yugi hugs him, Atem squeezes his shoulder, Mai kisses him on the cheek… and Malik is laughing at some joke Honda cracks and Bakura feels a weird, giddy lightness.

 

It’s working. His preparations paid off. He won his gamble.

 

Anzu’s the one who puts on the music and starts the dancing. Malik drags Bakura out to dance and Bakura’s too pleased that Malik’s actually smiling and having fun on his birthday to complain. He catches sight of Mai and Isis dancing together and grins.

 

When Isis brings out the kushari, Malik laughs in delight and makes sure everyone gets to try it.

 

Once the beer and soda is flowing and there’s a natural break in the songs, Bakura nudges Ryou and they disappear into the kitchen, reappearing with the cake, candles lit, carried slowly and with ceremony in Ryou’s steady hands. Isis hits the light.

 

Bakura keeps his eyes on Malik’s face, his skin flushed and glowing in the candlelight, as the group works its way through _Happy Birthday To Maaaalik_. Bakura can hear Atem singing with surprising gusto but it doesn’t even piss him off. Malik is beaming and that’s all that matters.

 

Malik blows out the candles, the room goes dark, and the group cheers enthusiastically. And in the darkness, Malik’s hand finds Bakura’s and Malik whispers in his ear, “Thanks, you crazy bastard.”

 

The party, fuelled by a generous round of delivery pizzas funded by the elder Ishtar siblings, lasts late into the evening. Atem starts a dangerous game of Truth or Dare and Isis shuts it down after a few escalating dares, before anything gets broken or any trousers come off. Yugi starts an almost-as-dangerous game of Snap. Mai and Malik bond over jewellery and Bakura sees them actually swap the necklace Mai’s wearing for one of Malik’s. Malik opens his presents with undisguised glee and swans around for the rest of the evening wearing his new earrings and new scarf.

 

And finally the guests trickle away with hugs and promises and well wishes.

 

And Malik and Bakura are left on the couch with the last two beers and the detritus of a good party scattered around them.

 

And Malik turns to Bakura with a wide, delighted grin.

 

“I’m ready to try out my new lingerie…”

 

Bakura’s eyes widen. Shit.

  
  


**Sex.**

 

Malik looks surprised. “Don’t you want to…?”

 

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to,” Bakura begins, almost sheepish as Malik looks unimpressed. “It’s that … we used the last of the lube the night before you went away. … And everything we own is dumped in a huge cairn over the bed…”

 

“Seriously?!”

 

“I didn’t prepare for this!”

 

“You threw me what’s basically my first ever real birthday party, and gave me lingerie for a gift, and you didn’t prepare for the fact that I might want to fuck you soundly afterwards?”

 

Bakura shrugs helplessly.

 

Malik laughs and stands up and goes into the kitchen. Bakura takes a long swig of his beer. Malik comes back out with a cheeky grin and a bottle of pure olive oil.

 

“If it’s a little uncomfortable, well, you like that kind of thing,” purrs Malik. “And we don’t have to clear the bed, I’m perfectly happy to fuck you right here.”

 

Bakura grins and downs the end of his beer, tossing the bottle aside and reaching up to grab Malik by the waist and pull him closer. Malik straddles Bakura’s lap, dropping the olive oil beside him on the couch and fisting his hand in Bakura’s hair, dragging his head back to kiss him hard. Malik’s tongue teases Bakura’s mouth, a moan in his throat. Bakura’s long, cool hands slide under Malik’s sharply tailored shirt and over the belt of his dark jeans. Malik’s hips roll and he slides his free hand under the collar of Bakura’s tshirt.

 

“Mmh… Fuck yes…”

 

Bakura draws his hands around to the front of Malik’s waist. He unbuckles Malik’s belt quickly and immediately pops open the buttons beneath. Malik purrs in delight and rolls his hips again, letting Bakura slide the tight jeans off his waist. Bakura tries to coax Malik to stand up but Malik resists and instead grabs the hem of Bakura’s tshirt to strip it off him in one violent motion, flinging it aside and immediately scraping his fingernails down Bakura’s long, pale back.

 

“Ahh…” Bakura moans, shivering in the cool air. Malik grins and catches his mouth for another kiss, as Bakura deftly unbuttons Malik’s shirt and shoves it back off Malik’s shoulders and onto the floor.

 

Now Malik stands and Bakura immediately takes the opportunity to drag his trousers down his legs. Malik had kicked off his boots to dance earlier, so he steps out of his trousers easily, left in nothing but a cheeky scrap of satin. He winks and grabs Bakura’s wrist, dragging him up and kissing his throat, quick hands unzipping Bakura’s faded jeans as Bakura toes out of his shoes.

 

Bakura lets his head drop back as Malik lavishes his teeth and tongue up Bakura’s throat. As he does, Malik hooks his thumbs into Bakura’s jeans and shorts and suddenly dips down, sliding the fabric free of Bakura’s slender legs, then kissing his way back up Bakura’s inner thigh. Bakura groans, his fists clenching by his sides as Malik brushes the tip of his tongue up the length of Bakura’s erection.

 

“Oh, you’re ready for this…” Malik’s voice is breathless with need as he rises, shoving Bakura back onto the couch.

 

“Damn right,” Bakura growls, reaching up to grab Malik and drag him down on top of him.

 

There’s a moment of heat and tangled limbs and struggle and Bakura finds himself pinned face down under Malik’s weight and Malik gropes for the olive oil as Bakura squirms impatiently.

 

“Hurry the hell up!”

 

“So impatient! Relax, I want to enjoy this…” Malik’s grin is audible in his voice. “Oops.”

 

Bakura feels the splatter across his back as Malik splashes olive oil from the bottle in his hurry to coat his fingers.

 

“Smooth.”

 

“Shut up. That’s what you get for making me rush. It’s good for your skin anyway,” Malik asserts, drawing a finger through the pool of oil in the hollow of Bakura’s lower back … and down to the cleft of his ass…

 

Bakura opens his mouth to respond but lets slip a moan instead as Malik’s finger finally reaches its destination and presses at the tight ring of muscle.

 

“Yes… relax, let me in…” he breathes.

 

Bakura grasps the arm of the couch and arches his back as Malik presses in and starts to fuck him shallowly on two fingers.

 

“ _More!_ ”

 

Malik grabs a handful of Bakura’s thick hair with his other hand. “I set the pace. I swear, you’d tear yourself to shreds if I let you...”

 

Bakura just grunts in reply and rocks his hips, trying to coax Malik to to move faster, but Malik enjoys the long, slow torture, drawing back whenever Bakura tries to fuck himself deeper on his fingers. Bakura has no choice but to hold himself still and let Malik work him at a wickedly slow pace, long, rocking thrusts that drive Bakura wild with need.

 

“Please!”

 

“Oh, that didn’t take long…”

 

“Just fuck me, you bastard!”

 

Malik draws his fingers out completely and Bakura almost screams, but then he feels the head of Malik’s bare cock against his ass and he moans instead, shifting his knees apart as far as he can on the couch and tilting his hips up.

 

“Fuck, yes,” Malik gasps and smacks Bakura’s ass before pressing in. If he was slow and thoroughly careful before, he reaps the benefit of it now, thrusting in deep as quickly as Bakura can take him and drawing a cry of pleasure and pain from Bakura’s lips.

 

“Yes! More!”

 

Malik obliges, still  gripping Bakura’s hair and grabbing his hip with his slick hand, setting an energetic pace, fucking Bakura exactly as hard as he needs.

 

This is what Bakura could have lost, if his gamble hadn’t worked, and Bakura cries his joy that he didn’t, that Malik is here and solid and happy and fucking him. That Bakura did something right, something good, that his work paid off in Malik’s smiles and laughter.

 

And then he can’t think about anything except the pleasure building in his body, Malik’s thickness filling him and Malik’s grip in his hair. Bakura scrabbles for a grip on the couch to ground himself as Malik knocks him forward with every thrust but he can do nothing but submit to it.

 

Malik’s oiled hand slides around to loosely grip Bakura’s cock as he ups his pace to something frantic, gasping nonsense in Bakura’s ear in a chaos of muddled languages and then he spills deep inside him, his hot body shuddering over Bakura as he enjoys every second of his climax.

 

“Yes… yes…”

 

Malik draws out, grabbing for some tissue to stop his cock dripping, and tugs Bakura to roll onto his back, which is awkward on the narrowness of the couch but he does it without kicking Malik in the head, to his surprise, and Malik immediately grabs Bakura’s cock and drops onto his elbow over him to kiss him thoroughly as he strokes him. Bakura cries into Malik’s mouth as his own climax washes over him, his seed spilling onto his stomach.

 

“Good… fuck, Bakura…” Malik collapses on top of him, heedless of the mess, and resumes kissing him, slow and placid.

 

Bakura breaks the kiss just long enough to gasp the words.

 

“Happy fucking birthday!”

 

 

 

_

**Author's Note:**

> So I got the prompt in ... let me see ... early September. To be posted on or soon after the 23rd of December. Obviously, because it's me, I wrote the ENTIRE thing today. I started at 11:30 am and am posting now twelve hours later. And I had a choir recital today so I had to put the damn fic down to go to rehearsal and to, you know, actually perform. Raging. But it's here and it was fun!
> 
> This is my first explicit thiefshipping fic, and my first really explicit fic generally, and also my first Five Things fic, so please leave a comment, I would really love to hear even a single word you have to say about it!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and wish to subscribe to my newsletter, I'm on Tumblr as pharaohsparklefists, writing recaps of Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters.
> 
> Happy Christmas!


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